An unhappy equilibrium:
let’s lie on the linoleum floor
and
zipper ourselves up.

Let’s serve
charcoal
for Christmas dinner.

Let’s sip on sawdust
until our throats
crack in half
and we
collapse,
crazed.

After the Handshake

I have a dream about my
dead grandfather.
He takes out his disjointed fingers
and puts them in mine
and they form
two moist towelettes
dirtied from his frown.

Clouds too low,
air too slick,
grip too tight.
He watches our
hushed conversation
between two
naked,
shivering
ring fingers.
Bidding goodbye,
I head home and
sleep with dragons
and their smelly ashes
of forgotten lessons
and proper demonstrations.

Emma Weiss is a New Jersey native who enjoys reading Shakespeare, listening to old comedy tapes, and making fun of soppy romantic comedy movies. Emma’s work has been published by Lips Magazine and the Live Poets Society of NJ; she has also received gold and silver Scholastic Writing Awards.